


where we stood was holy ground

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Jewish Character, M/M, slice of life but make it jewish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: “If,” the woman hastens to add, “you hold by that, and believe demons are watching.”That is one of the few things he does know to be true. Demons are real, waiting for John to slip, and he’s embarrassed by the painful mix of hope her words give him.It must be nice, John thinks, as the crowd begins to sing something with the words mazel tov, to have a tradition and be certain there are answers in every corner.





	where we stood was holy ground

**Author's Note:**

> a) I love run on sentences.  
b) See the end for a glossary of most of the random Jewish bits I’ve sprinkled in here.  
c) if nbc didn’t want chas to be Jewish why does he keep his head covered and have a home in BROOKLYN and then Atlanta which also has a large Jewish population. yes this is canon compliant, enough.  
d) Probably some blasphemy here but this is constantine so uh ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ , some gore-y bits but they're all contained to one section  
e) L’shanah tovah because it’s almost erev Rosh Hashanah as i post this.

John is twenty the first time he sees Chas lighting candles on a Friday night. He’s been sleeping on their terrible pull out couch, fighting off a hangover, and he’s not sure how Chas’ low intonations woke him. He has no idea what Chas is saying, other than a few God names but it’s soothing. He sees the tea lights flicker and flame. John has always had a bit of a sense of Chas’ moods, and the peace that settles is palpable.

He closes his eyes as Chas begins to turn, feigning sleep as Chas’ steps lead him to curl up beside him on the couch. 

Chas must think he’s asleep, because John gets a cool kiss to his forehead, and an arm pulling him close.

They don’t talk about it when they’re wide awake, of course, but what happens when they’re dazed or at least pretending is different. 

Chas whispers Hebrew to him, and John wants to remember it so he can question Chas in the morning, but it’s already slipping away from him as Chas’ presence soothes him to sleep.

—

All the Church of England weddings he has attended in the past were quiet affairs, priests droning on, and everyone fidgeting in the pews. Any wildness was had out at stag nights.

Chas and Renee are getting married—John suspects Renee is pregnant, but he isn’t stupid enough to ask—and this is John’s first time in a synagogue.

Renee is beaming and Chas is besotted and there’s only so much “I am my beloved, and my beloved is mine” that John can stomach.

It takes Chas two stomps to break the glass, which makes John wonder about the quality of the glass. He’s sure he’s seen Chas break less fragile things with even less force.

The brightness and cheer and joy puts a lump in his throat. John has always been more or less alone, starting right at his birth, and even here he feels the pangs of being a stranger.

Except no one here is a stranger because food and wine are flowing, and Chas and Renee are being carried in chairs, and John loves Chas so much he can hardly bear it.

John slinks to the background, avoiding the joy Chas is bursting with, and seeks out the darker corner. He hears a few titters from the older crowd, and sidles in to eavesdrop. 

“It’s a bad sign,” a woman says, fingers drumming on the wine table. “Shedim have noticed.”

“What is?” John asks, startling the woman. The word shedim tugs at a strand of memory but he can’t trace it back to its root.

The woman turns to him, probably trying to place him, and John plows forward.

“Chas is my best mate,” he says. “I want him to be happy.”

She takes a sip from her glass, mouth twitching, and John knows his misery must be written on his face.

“It’s a bit of bubbe meise from the shtetl,” she replies. “Their marriage will be plagued by doubts and small miseries.”

“If,” the woman hastens to add, “you hold by that, and believe demons are watching.”

That is one of the few things he does know to be true. Demons are real, waiting for John to slip, and he’s embarrassed by the painful mix of hope her words give him.

It must be nice, John thinks, as the crowd begins to sing something with the words mazel tov, to have a tradition and be certain there are answers in every corner.

All John has ever really had was Chas.

—

“Maybe we should discuss it?” John is still tentative in his tone, though quieter than he would be after missions where Chas hasn’t lost a soul.

“Not now, John,” Chas says. Exasperation lines Chas’ words, but Chas is mostly tired, John thinks. John knows that, knows that they’ve been fighting demons for the past week.

They’re back in the mill house, as close to a home as they’ve ever had together, and John saw Chas in pain.

He watched as a demon tortured Chas, slicing off his flesh, carving crosses into his skin, and he can hear the sound of the demon’s delight when they realized Chas would heal. That the agony could be prolonged.

John had to cast silent magic with numb and bound hands as Chas made noises John won’t forget.

He can still see blood on Chas’ arms, dark splotches of matted hair, even though Chas is currently in a bathrobe with wet hair, having enjoyed a soak and scrub. John blinks, and the gore is gone, Chas’ skin pink and clear of any marks.

“Should we schedule it, then?” John asks. 

“I wanted to daven ma’ariv,” Chas says, pausing by the stairs. Chas used to hide the prayers from him, but Chas’ need to do this and their forced proximity collided to a point where Chas no longer cares what John observes.

Chas doesn’t always do evening prayers, but John should have expected it tonight. When Chas has lost a soul, he always says the mourner’s kaddish.

“Sure,” John says. “Just--come find me after?”

Chas doesn’t answer him, but John trusts that he’ll show up. He needs the absolution that only Chas has ever been able to give him. He needs Chas to know how sorry he is.

—

Chas shifts against him as John pushes down his boxers to wrap his hand around Chas’ cock. He drops his head to kiss Chas’ unblemished neck, devoid of the tattoos John has covered himself with. The room is dark, only a sliver of parking lot lighting peeking through the drawn hotel curtains, and if the alarm clock ever worked it doesn’t now.

“You’re circumcised,” John says, almost a question, even though he has the evidence in front of him. Chas’ dick in his grasp, hard and making Chas pant harshly as John strokes him.

“I’m Jewish,” Chas says, like John isn’t aware, like Chas’ background hasn’t saved John a million times, right before he kisses John. 

The scratchy burn of Chas’ beard against John’s mouth makes him want to give up his plans and beg Chas to blow him.

“I do respect your traditions, you know.”

He can’t tell if the noise Chas make is a scoff or his breath catching, but this is a distraction from what John is fixated on. He shifts down the bed and motions Chas to move toward the headboard.

Usually John takes a little more time on foreplay, to get his partner to beg him. 

But not with Chas. Not now. 

Chas digs his hands into the sheets as John slowly places his mouth on his cock. He’s spent decades imagining the heat of Chas’ body and gasps as John is finally the one to make Chas see stars. 

His first attempt John makes is only about half way down. Chas is mumbling something about how it’s okay if John can’t, and that settles it: John is going to deepthroat him.

It’s not that John wasn’t aware that Chas is well endowed—this fact has been a center of many fantasies—but it’s different when Chas’ body is trembling beneath him and making John work to keep themselves both steady.

Chas’ grip eventually switches from the bedsheets to John’s hair, culminating in a sharp tug when John finally gets Chas’ dick all the way down his throat. The noise John makes is mostly involuntary, but he does play it up a tad. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of theater when it means Chas is bucking his hips.

He slowly moves off of Chas, blinking back the reflexive tears from strain. Chas is looking down at him, eyes lit up in a way he’s never seen them before, and gently, a question evident, maneuvers his head back down. Far be it for John to deprive Chas. John is using all the tricks he can remember, soft sucks to the head, a hand around the base of Chas’ cock, looking up at Chas through faux innocent lashes.

“I want to fuck you,” Chas says, and John pulls off of Chas slowly.

John isn’t going to argue that, not when Chas is manoeuvring to be on top of John, and pressing kisses to John’s neck.

—

It’s getting to fall and the mill house is drafty all year, so it isn’t unusual for John to steal one of Chas’ plaid robes from the closet and head downstairs.

Borrowing Chas’ clothes isn’t new for the two of them, but these days the reaction he gets is exasperated affection or a look that all but guarantees neither of their clothes will remain on for long.

John doesn’t mind the roll of Chas’ eyes when John tugs him away from the counter for a good morning kiss. He’s tempted to distract Chas—Zed is on a trip and he loves convincing Chas that they absolutely should have sex in places other than their bed—but the coffee aroma from the table carafe is strong and Chas’ hands, John realizes, are deep in bread dough. 

“Round braids,” John says. He’s used to seeing Chas fuss with three strands of dough, or six, but they end up in long loaves.

“The new year is soon,” Chas replies, hands deftly shaping the dough. 

“Mm,” John says, spotting Chas’ coffee on the counter, and grabbing the mug for a sip. “I’ll refill it,” he adds, as he continues to drink against Chas’ noise of protest. 

“Which new year?” John asks.

Chas’ hands finish the last braid but there’s a prickle of tension in his back. “Well,” Chas says, ”It isn’t December.”

It stings that Chas assumes John means a secular new year, but it’s not like John has been the best at memorizing Jewish traditions.

“I mean, is it the one with apples and fruit?”

Chas laughs, full bodied, and turns to kiss John, extricating the coffee mug and placing it back on the counter at the same time. He doesn’t know what was funny but Chas doesn’t seem like he’s about to lecture John on not being a magpie, either, so he’ll take it.

“It’s almost Rosh Hashanah, but you mentioned apples and fruit, so maybe you’re thinking of Tu B’shivat.”

The fondness on Chas’ face is so transparent that John wonders how they ever missed it on each other. 

“You can eat apples for both of them,” Chas says, sliding his hands into John’s robe.

John leans against him, relieved to have redeemed himself, and lets Chas kiss him.

—

They don’t call it a wedding even though that’s what it is in its purest form. The word wedding implies a party, and all John really wants is the next day when he knows Chas will say good morning, John and nothing will have changed except the bands on their fingers. So the wedding, such as it is, is him and Chas and the handful of people they trust in the pews.

And Chas’ rabbi, who is surprisingly tolerant of John’s esoteric questions about Jewish demonology. The rabbi does balk at some of John’s specifics, but that’s still a better track record than any priest or pastor John has ever asked.

They’re both coming on fifty now, and he’s lived more years than should have been his. They aren’t retired--it’s a hard thing to do in their line of work--but after averting a maybe apocalypse they’ve realized the balance of slowing down.

Geraldine is in college—John feels a sort of paternal pride in that—but she’s splitting her time between Brooklyn and Atlanta for the summer. John remembers when she was tiny and breakable and her existence felt like another barrier to Chas. He knows better now. There’s no easier way to manage Chas than by recruiting Geraldine. She’s grinning next to her father, and John loves them both. 

Chas recites a Bible verse in Hebrew; John is certain Chas showed him the text before, but he’s nervous about his own vows. He had refused to show his own to Chas, determined to do at least one thing on his own accord.

Zed touches her hand against his, probably sensing his nerves, and that brief grounding is all he needs as everyone turns to him.

“Wherever you die, I will die, and there will I be buried; so may the Lord do to me, or even more, for only death will part you and me.” 

John has fought worse than God and he’d tear all of creation asunder if it kept Chas safe.

Chas kisses him, eyes bright, and John knows Chas understands.

The glass, under both of their feet, breaks with one stomp.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title is from a Taylor Swift song, no, i'm not sorry
> 
> Jewish glossary:  
What Hebrew is Chas whispering? John doesn’t know, and neither do i!  
-  
All Jewish wedding customs described here are mostly Ashkenazi! So this is not the end all be all for Jewish weddings plus John is an unreliable narrator.
> 
> “I am my beloved, and my beloved is mine” is from the Song of Songs, the sexiest book of the Tanakh.
> 
> Shtetl = a small jewish town in the Old Country, aka eastern Europe  
Bubbe meise = your grandmas old wives tale  
Shedim = Jewish demons
> 
> The mazel tov song John references is ‘siman tov u mazel tov’. It is incredibly catchy.
> 
> I couldn’t actually find anything to say whether the glass not breaking immediately is bad luck, which is why I had it referred to a bubbe meise, but it’s really just me doing what I want.
> 
> -  
Daven maariv = evening prayers. The mourner’s kaddish is the Jewish prayer for the dead, and I am obsessed with the idea that Chas does this for each soul he loses, thank you for coming to my ted talk.  
-  
Yes, I did make a dick joke.  
-  
On Rosh Hashanah you braid your challah in a circle to symbolize the year! I was going to make challah today but then I wrote this instead. Tu b’shivat is the new year for trees; there are technically 4 Jewish new years. I wanted Chas to be annoyed thinking John meant secular calendar but plot twist: john knows there’s more than 1 Jewish new year.
> 
> -
> 
> “Wherever you die, I will die, and there will I be buried; so may the Lord do to me, or even more, for only death will part you and me.” The Book of Ruth, ch 1 verse 17, Robert Alter translation  
-  
You can find me on tumblr at the same url, and if there is anything I forgot to explain, please lmk. Shanah tovah, may it be a good and sweet year for us all!


End file.
